


Robron Drabble #1

by Trawler



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 20:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trawler/pseuds/Trawler
Summary: Robron drabble, set a few hours after Robert Sugden has been shot. Aaron’s point of view.





	Robron Drabble #1

I closed the bedroom door behind me, hand gripping the handle so hard that my fingers hurt. I pressed my forehead against the door, the wood cool on my sweaty skin, and let out a long, shuddering breath.

_Robert’s been shot._ I’d be lying if I said that I couldn’t believe it; he’d made himself so fucking unpopular that it would be more unbelievable to think that someone _wouldn’t_ shoot him. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t care. That I was glad he was in hospital, hanging on by a thread… but again, I’d be lying.

I pulled the gun out of my jacket. I’d have to get rid of it – sooner, rather than later – because I knew that I’d be high on the list of suspects. Rob had said some bloody awful things to me in the scrapyard, things that circled my head even now, repeating over and over and making it hard to think. I grabbed a dirty T-shirt and wiped my prints, then wrapped the gun. I shoved both into my bag and jammed the whole lot into the back of my wardrobe.

Kicking off my boots and dumping my jacket over the back of a chair, I got into bed fully clothed. I was bloody freezing, but it had nothing to do with the fact that it was September. Here and now – with a closed door between me and the rest of the world – I could face up to the two things I’d have to ignore, forget and deny just as hard as I could. 

One: - I was still in love with Robert.

Two: - I was pretty sure that my mum had shot him.

I pressed my palms against my eyes, fighting back angry, self-pitying tears. Part of me hoped that he died, that everything I was going through – all the pain, the way I hated myself, the way I hated him – would just stop. Part of me prayed that he lived, and was hurting because he was hurting. I had no idea how to process the mess in my head.

It would be so easy to pick up a knife and just… just cut myself again. The temptation was there, the stinging pain already in my head, pain that made everything else fade away. But I couldn’t. I knew that I couldn’t. Not with Robert’s insults and accusations still dinging away in my brain.

So I pulled the duvet over my head and pressed the fabric against my wet eyes. Tomorrow I’d be strong. For my mum, for the rest of the family. Tomorrow I’d pretend that everything was alright. 

But now – tonight – all I wanted was to fall apart.


End file.
